by C. C. Bolick
Their voices faded again.
I laughed at myself, stuck on the hospital floor. Mom had often worried about how nasty our kitchen floor was, even though she mopped it daily. Once when I was a child, she’d sent me to my room just for crawling across the floor to watch her cook.
Seven minutes later, their voices chimed again, this time stopping outside the door. I sighed, not getting my hopes up. The door creaked, slowly at first, and then banged against the wall.
“Jes!” Danny yelped as he raced to my side.
“We’ll help you up,” Collin said, grabbing my arm.
The twins managed to pull me up to sit before them.
“We’ll get you back in bed,” Danny said.
“Bathroom first,” I said, my voice a rotten mix of pain killers and dry hospital air.
“What are you doing on the floor?” Collin asked as he and Danny again tugged on my arms.
In their eyes flashed all the fear and worry from their voices in the hall. They were the only ones who’d never looked at me as if I was damaged. I’d always been the strong one for them. A tear slid down my cheek.
“Don’t cry,” Danny whispered.
Collin put an arm around my neck. “We’re sorry about making you go to the aquarium.”
“And the book,” Danny said. “We’re sorry about the book.”
“What’s going on?” Dad asked from the doorway. He pushed the boys back and lifted me to the bed.
“I was trying to get to the bathroom,” I said as the tears flowed.
“I’ve got this,” Mom said, rushing forward. She took my other arm. Between her and Dad, I made it to the bathroom.
Humiliation burned in my cheeks. “I can go by myself.”
Mom’s voice was steady. “Why should you have to when I’m here?”
“I’m sixteen.”
“Which means I’m the mother of a sixteen-year-old. You’re never getting out of my sight again.”
Great, I thought. Now I’d never find a way to search for Chase.
* * * * *
The beeping came again—my beeping, not Dad’s as it had been during those months in Atlanta. Someone took my arm and lightly tugged a piece of tape, adjusting the IV line. The nurse began to hum, a country song I think, and pressed some buttons. The beeping stopped, before restarting in the same rhythm.
I considered begging her to turn it off, but I didn’t have the strength.
I kept my eyes closed, hoping the nurse would leave without asking any questions. It was too early for explanations, or late I wasn’t sure, and I didn’t want to see the needle in my hand. If I looked at the tube, at the machine connected to me, I’d have to accept the fact I was stuck in a hospital bed. All those months I dreaded the elevator ride and the clean smell that tickled my nose, and now it was all for me.
She tugged on a can of sanitizer that hung near the door and rubbed her hands together. I laid frozen in the bed as she shuffled out of the room.
A voice spoke low and I focused on the source—a TV in the next room. Someone screamed the letter ‘C.’ “Sorry, no C,” a man said. Someone called out three words and the male voice rose. The clapping and music that followed caused my head to ache.
In my mind, it seemed so simple. Touch the button along the TV’s edge and the picture would disappear, with the sound. I pictured the button, imagined pressing it with my finger.
“Nurse, my TV!” a man yelled.
The door to my room closed with a gentle click. Someone was nearby.
I opened my eyes as a terrible thought gripped me. “Rachelle!”
“She isn’t here,” said a voice near the window. Pade turned and light slipping through the blinds formed stripes across his chest.
Struggling to sit, I pulled myself up with the rails, but my legs refused to move. My IV line caught on one of the rails, again nearly ripping the needle from my hand. The pain was intense, but even more so was the sense of dread at being chained to the beeping machine—if only the needle were ripped out of my hand. “You don’t understand.”
Pade rushed to my side and took my arm, unwinding the tube. “No, I don’t, but you need to relax. Just lay back and tell me.”
“Rachelle,” I said, close to tears. “Is she…”
“She was here yesterday, but you were sleeping. Her parents drove her up to see you.”
I sighed. “Thank goodness. I thought she…”
“Rachelle is fine. Now you, on the other hand, had everyone flipping out.”
My eyes darted around the room. “Where am I?”
He took a long glance around the room. His eyes stopped on the machine next to my bed. Why did he hesitate? “You’re in a hospital,” he finally said. “Didn’t your parents tell you?”
I remembered lying on the floor. I’d guessed we were in Atlanta but never asked. Had they told me that first day? No, they’d been more focused on asking about Chase. Great, now they knew I wasn’t okay with him leaving. They’d probably hire me a shrink. “I don’t think we got that far.” I shook my head. “That means we’re in Atlanta. That means you’re—”
“Back.” Pulling a chair close to the bed, Pade took my hand in his. “You’ve been in a coma.”
Still darker than midnight, his hair now reached beyond his ears. I found myself smiling at the longer hair. If only I could touch it. “For how long?”
“Forty-one days.”
“What?” That meant it was July. I’d lost a month and a half?
“Everyone was worried. I was afraid you wouldn’t wake up—I’ve never been so afraid.”
I squeezed his hand, feeling the raw pain and fear in his voice flow through me. “I’m sorry.”
He did a double take. “Jes, you’re not going to lie in a hospital bed and apologize for being in a coma. This time I won’t let you.”
“Did they tell you how I got sick?”
“Sun-poisoning. My mom could explain it better; she knows all the medical terms.”
Of course, Aunt Charlie was a nurse. Shifting the pillows around my head, I rolled onto my side. “I can’t believe you’re here. You guys never came to the hospital when Dad was sick.”
“Mom did. You just never saw her.”
I smiled weakly. “I bet my parents have been freaking out.”
“Everyone has been freaking out.”
I pulled my hand away. “Are you going back to Colorado?”
Pade smiled, this time with a warmth that reminded me of the Pade I’d grown to love. He reclaimed my hand. “Just try and get rid of me.”
* * * * *
“You gave us all quite the scare,” Dr. Baynor said from a chair next to my bed.
I watched as the nurse entered my vitals on a tablet. “What happened to me?”
He leaned back and crossed his legs, holding one knee with his hands. “You were in a coma.”
It had been nearly a year since I’d seen Dr. Baynor. How ironic that Dad’s main doctor would also treat me. “Was it cancer, like what made Dad sick?”
“Of course not, honey,” Mom said. She and Dad sat holding hands on the plastic couch beneath the window.
Dr. Baynor smiled. “Not exactly, but we think it might be kind of your dad’s fault.” He looked to Dad. “All those years he made you wear the sunscreen left you with minimal exposure to the sun’s radiation. Getting so much at one time caused your system to go into overload.”
Because, like Chase, I couldn’t handle the sun. If only I could tell them without getting a personal invitation to the psych ward.
“This overload forced your system to shut down. I won’t bore you with technical terms, but I will say I’ve never seen a case quite like this.”
Yeah, I’d bet on that.
“As it turns out, Justin and several other cancer survivors underwent some serious testing last fall.”
“In Tokyo?” I asked.
Dr. Baynor nodded. “The results of these skin tests helped us formulate new drugs to help future patients fight t
heir cancers faster.”
“So, then I did have cancer?” I asked. “Did you give me radiation?”
Dad cringed. “Don’t say that word.”
Dr. Baynor chuckled. “My, you are intuitive. No, we don’t consider your sickness cancer.” He rubbed his chin. “I’ve heard of rare cases where people developed an allergy to sunlight. I’m not sure if that’s what happened here, but strangely enough the new drugs seemed to help heal your skin faster. We kept your room like a dungeon for more than three weeks, and it was still a few more before you woke up.”
“Am I banned from going outside now?”
“Jessica,” Dr. Baynor said, his voice serious. “You need to be extremely careful. I’ve made light of some of our discussion to keep you at ease, but it’s no small miracle that you’re alive.”
His words washed over me. I felt real fear of ever going in the sun again. But the drugs—somehow they’d made me healthy again. If only Chase knew of this discovery. If only…I slammed a palm against my forehead. I’d probably never see Chase again.
“What’s wrong?” Dad asked.
I pulled the sheet up close to my face. “All of this…it’s just more than I can handle right now.”
Mom stood. “She needs rest.”
Dr. Baynor shook his head. “Lorraine, your daughter’s had a year of rest.”
“How did you know?” I asked.
“What?” Dr. Baynor asked, turning back to me.
I looked at Dad. “How did you know you’d get cancer?”
He frowned. “What are you asking?”
“All of those years we wore sunscreen, even before your cancer and that tub of goo you started making me wear every day. How did you know?”
Dad lowered his head.
“Justin’s father died of the same cancer,” Mom said.
Stunned, I pulled myself up. “Why haven’t you told me?”
“I didn’t want you to know last year.” Dad put an arm around her neck. “He refused the treatments, as if what they had back then was all that great. Why do you think I’ve signed up for test after test? At least something good came out of me being away.” He looked up, meeting my eyes. “I’m sorry this happened to you.”
Pain and love shined in his eyes, dueling with the guilt. I knew what happened to me wasn’t his fault. But how could I ever tell him?
* * * * *
I uncovered the tray, inhaling as the smell of rosemary chicken breast wafted up. My stomach begged for the wonderful aroma, but I wouldn’t get my hopes up this time. After two weeks of breakfast, lunch, and dinner at the hospital—not counting the burger Bailey hid in her purse, I was starving for some real food.
“Don’t worry,” a voice said beyond my door.
Climbing from the bed, I peeked around the half-open door to see Pade on his cell.
“I know you are,” Pade said, while rubbing his eyes. “No, don’t leave. I’ll be back in Credence tonight.” He ended the call as Rachelle came around the corner.
“What’s going on?” she asked.
He shook his head. “Nothing you can help with.”
Rachelle put her hands on her hips. “You didn’t answer my question.”
“Are you going to see Jes?”
“If she’s awake this time.”
Pade turned and I ducked back behind the door. “They just brought her dinner.”
“Are you going in?” she asked.
“No, I’ve got to get back to Credence. Tosh needs my help.”
Rachelle laughed, her typical brand of disbelief wrapped with irony. “Can you really trust anything Tosh says?”
“Maybe not, but I’ve got to go. Please, don’t tell Jes.”
“I won’t,” she said. “But you should.”
When his steps started down the hall, I jumped back in the bed and pulled the tray table over my lap. I ripped open the plastic fork and knife, stabbing the chicken, but the tip of the knife merely broke off and landed in the mashed potatoes. I hung my head as tears burned in my eyes.
A searing pain shot through my chest, straight to my heart. Yes, I’d sent Pade away. But right or wrong, he’d come back. And now, he was leaving to see her. Would Tosh always come between us?
“Hey.”
I glanced up from the chicken and threw the plastic knife at the far wall in disgust. Rachelle stood in the doorway.
“You can come in,” I said. “It’s safe now.”
She tiptoed to the foot of my bed and looked around, her eyes shifting from the chair full of my clothes to the couch weighed down with bags of books the boys had brought as a peace offering.
I pointed to the chair, trying to focus my attention away from Pade. “Don’t worry about the clothes. Sit on them or move them—I don’t care.”
“I’m not staying.” She took another look around.
“How are you?” I asked, staring at the girl who’d tried to be one of the best friends I’d ever known. She couldn’t help the fact I wouldn’t let her in.
Rachelle swallowed and formed a stiff smile as she stared back. “I should ask you the same.”
“Getting better every day.”
Her smile never faltered. “Yeah, me too.”
Beeps sounded in the next room. Nurses rushed by my door, shouting to a doctor down the hall. The beeps became a shrill alarm.
She peered through the doorway. “Is it like this every day?”
“No,” I said, “just on Fridays.”
Turning back to me, Rachelle managed a laugh. “Don’t ever come to a party without sunscreen again.”
“I doubt I’ll be going to any parties, especially those requiring sunscreen.”
She swallowed again and looked at her feet. “Did you tell anyone about my…friend?”
“No.”
“Good.” She met my eyes for a quick second and walked to the door. Before stepping into the hall, she spun around. “Don’t ever tell anyone.” With those words, her feet barreled down the hall.
I leaned back against the pillows, wondering what just happened.
The Painful Truth
The Atlanta air was hotter than I remembered, or maybe it was the fact I’d spent most of the summer in a hospital room that wasn’t much warmer than our fridge. The van was also quieter than I remembered. Mom and Dad stared ahead and the boys played games with headphones in their ears.
We pulled up in the driveway almost two hours later. Luckily, I’d slept for half of that. I smiled to myself, wondering if I was going to turn into Rip Van Winkle and sleep my life away.
Nothing much had changed in the foyer or the kitchen, except for the pile of mail spread across the table. The sink was empty and the dish drainer held not a single fork. Even the red mixer with its silver bowl sat in the same corner of granite as if never used. I wondered when Mom had last cooked a meal in our kitchen. I looked around the living room, taking in the lack of pictures on the walls and thought of Chase. I burst into tears.
“Tell us what’s wrong,” Dad said.
“You’d never understand,” I said and ran up the stairs. The boys stared from their doorway as I passed, but I didn’t look at them. Stepping into my room, I slammed the door behind me and leaned against the wall. I lowered myself to the floor, hugging my knees to my chest as the tears fell. They’d never understand who I was or where I’d come from.
My eyes grew heavy with all the tears and my mind drifted.
“Jessica,” a voice whispered.
I opened my eyes to Mom, who was seated across from me, leaning against the bed. She stared as I reached for the door. It was still closed.
“You fell asleep,” she said, as if reading my mind.
“How did you get in here?”
Mom sighed. “Through the door, of course, but I closed it so we wouldn’t have an audience.” She pointed at the wall separating my room from the boys.
I wiped the moisture from my eyes. “I’m tired.”
“You were in a coma for almost two months.”
>
“I never meant to get sick.”
Her voice was calm, with a level of control I’d never noticed. “Before the coma you weren’t well for a long time.”
I lowered my head in my hands.
“Jessica,” she said, her voice rising, “we can’t help you if you won’t tell us what’s wrong.”
The seriousness in her voice made my skin crawl. “Nothing.”
“Something is bothering you.”
I rubbed my hand across the back of my neck. “I don’t want to talk about it.”
“Honey, we need to talk about it.”
I took a deep breath. “I’ve been depressed ever since Chase left, and then Bailey—”
“Bailey’s back now.”
Smiling in agony, I wanted like crazy to tell Mom the truth about my dreams. Would she believe me? “When I was in the coma…”
“Yes?” she asked.
My nervous sigh echoed through the room. “I dreamed constantly.” The memories were still a fog, so I closed my eyes. “My real parents were there. Someone tried to kill me. I heard a woman screaming…” My eyes flew open. “It was your voice. You were screaming Dad’s name.”
“What exactly did you hear?”
“You screamed ‘Justin’.”
Mom moved to my side and took my hand. “When you awoke from the coma, you were doing quite a bit of screaming yourself. I ran into the hall and called for your dad several times before he rushed into the room.”
The dream had felt so real and yet…it wouldn’t be the first time I mixed the before and after in my dreams of the past.
“Dr. Baynor said people in comas report all sorts of strange experiences. Would you like to talk about it?”
I looked away. “Talk about what? Apparently that dream wasn’t really of the past.”
“Are you okay?”
So, we’d made a full circle. I stood in disgust and jumped onto my bed, tugging the comforter over my head.
Mom didn’t move from her spot on the floor. “Maybe we pushed you too hard. Maybe we should have stayed at the hospital another week.”
“No,” I shouted. “I’m not going back there. It was bad enough when Dad was in the hospital. Now I just want my life back.”
